


Dragon's Language

by Polychaeta



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Complex and deeply flawed protagonist, Dissociation, During the Great Pokemon War, Human/Pokemon Relationship(s), Other, Pokemon Ecology, Pokemon are Sapient, Pokemon deserve equal respect and dignity, Pokephilia, This takes place pre invention of the Pokeball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polychaeta/pseuds/Polychaeta
Summary: UPDATE: This is a story about a boy raised by an unknowable Ninetales during the times of the great Pokemon/Human wars.Said wars are canon in Pokemon Black/White, but this is a bit of a (hopefully lighthearted) critique of how society progressed post that crutial point, and how to fall in love with a Pokemon owned by Humans you need to be aware of insidious power dynamics/how dangerous the use of a pokeball is.It touches on some personal thoughts on Xenophobia, love, and romance.If you, uh, like amateurs or maybe just a bit more unorthodox authors, I'd appreciate any feedback on discord!
Relationships: Human/Monster - Relationship, Original Male Character(s)/Original Non-Human Character(s), Original Non-Human Character(s) - Relationship, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon/Original Character(s), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon/Original Human Character(s), Xenophilia - Relationship, currently unsure of where to take this, or what gender or species the romantic interest will be
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time ever publishing a fan-fiction or anything written onto the internetscape, don't expect perfection, god knows I don't.

**Chapter 1: Horns and Foxes**

Quietly, an adolescent boy nearing his thirteenth day of inchoation lowered himself behind the sloping greenery of an enclave overlooking an open field well known for it's open grazing herbivores. He was entirely unclad, albeit painted and camouflaged head to toe for the almost initiation-like ritual that was taking place, adorned on his head was a four eyed foxmask and long spindling antlers.

His mind was uncannily sharpened, focused now almost mechanically onto the most proximate member of the Stantler herd, and in an instant the quiet placidity of the forest was superseded with a yell and the breaking of sticks.

The boy had utilized a rope to lasso around the neck and horns of a Buck if he were to be honest with himself, a rather colossal one. He was tied to the Pokemon as it commenced the display of truculently kicking and halfrunning, not at all a foreigner to the potentiality of this occurrence, utilizing every ounce of vigor to adeptly fight off the assailing child.

The boy pulled the rope and buck towards him and ascertained that he was face to face with the Pokemon in lieu of taking a more hazardous rear position that guaranteed a properly positioned kick would instantly end his life. The buck complied with this request on noticing more closely the outfit he had chosen, spoken only through the language of the horned mask that he adorned, agreeing to duel him face forward.

Charging at him with his antlers in full bloom, there was no doubt this was the prime of the creature's lifecycle.

It was two hours and four sacks of Deer carcass later, while the adolescent boy was trudging through the woods to return to his mother and the hole they've lovingly coined a home, he was rather unsettled. Furrowing his brows and tilting his head over to looking down at the meat he was lazily dragging with one arm.

It was well known to Pokemon and Human that the ability to directly communicate through language was a _clear_ possibility across every Pokemon species, and one he possessed since birth by being raised among them,

"All of this is just part of how life fucking goes out here, don't cry to me you got caught" he embarrassingly yelled at the sacks, arguing more with himself since he verbalized nothing at the time of the authentic encounter with the now dismantled pile of sloppy meat. The Stantler had cut him deep earlier by pointing out his deepest insecurity during the fight,

That being, that "He was a “Human”, and freakish. To no ones surprise, especially not his.

This particular line of events weren't an uncommon occurrence, and one he was tired of. It seemed that no matter how he planned or how politely he approached the fight, the pleas for sympathy to try and gather the underhand by "forming a desperate connection purely to survive" were in his eyes as a something honorable turned into something pitiable, in him denying the request for mercy the “dying words” of the Buck had turned to poison tonged insults that echoed in his him like venom snaking it’s way into his brain.

There was another layer to the dynamic of prey and hunter known to him that he often theorized was the root cause, but it hadn’t been truly put into words as bluntly to get through his thick childish skull until now. Stopping in his tracks and muttering sharply;

“Is it just….

That they don’t consider me worth someone worth ANYTHING as a hunter because I’m…”

He stumbled on the word; it was like an admittance of guilt among these parts, more than the “simple” commonplace act of hunting for food that was widely done and respected by several apex Pokémon species.

“Fuck, this is such complete shit. “

He snaked his hands above the mask worn on his face, it was smooth like silk on his fingers and polished to perfection. The fingers continued their crawl upwards, snapping over the tip of the mask, digging violently into his skull as he painfully prehended a fairly marinated in blood region of his skull.

A sensation of boiling fire in him was erupting, and this was all he could do to temporarily soothe the pain banging like a drum through his body as his eyes rolled into a dissociative expression.

The conclusion felt like a pile of rocks hitting his stomach all at once burying him alive and suffocating his heart inside of it. Always consciously aware of being an outsider, he never truly felt **_alien_**. Breath hitched, his overgrown shaggy lavender hair that was pigmented with several brown and green dyes for the occasion was one of his secret prides. His mother painted him and the warm feeling that he was dripping with fresh blood, although only a small trickle made it's way down his left arm where his eyes could glance at it.

He truly felt like less than nothing, and that he were gazing into nothingness, or some sort of worthlessness.

Properly noticing the smears on his hands in several colors walked him back. He reluctantly released his hair and took a deep breath. The young boy was already an expert at gathering his composure from this rare display of vulnerability.

Not that he hated his mother, but there were always unspoken reasons why he had become a hunter in the first place. It was a role given to him on a platter and no brainer to guarantee personal success. Many Pokémon survived off berries and crops alone but the appeal of eating meat came with the promise of getting close to others, challenging them to a fight for life and learning about them all at the same time with a clearly led path in life by example, but the real truth was that it had an appeal that soothed his terrifying trepidation of being solitary and letting himself feel isolated in a quiet gardeners den where his adult guardian quietly watched him.

Communication through this way, no, this style of existence was simply easier.

The only issue was that the cognizance of what a “Human” was, and the potential dangers were told to many young and old through the woods, long before his birth.

“I should probably have a late night swim when I get home”


	2. Sungazing is blinding

A fresh swim, a pleasant bask under the moon, cool smooth skin glistening under the many illuminating Pokémon dancing across the constellations, knowledge rushing to his brain gained from the subtle stimuli of many scents and sensations tied to stepping on freshly printed dirt while barefoot and imprinting a perfect image of the identities of the “territory” trespassers.

These little echoing excitements were easing his wary heart and allowing the troubled adolescent the insidious ability to once again bottle everything up and act more in control, difficult, as he had no will to do his nightly duties.

He was walking to the den of his home now, early, fixated on the bug, ghost, and water Pokémon in the far distance signaling out to one another across every direction of his vision like an elegant romantic dance cascading across species.

Visiting the den meant a quick walk past the individual he killed and placed into a makeshift icebox hours before, murmuring out a dry “That’ll last me about two months” before lazily returning to his trek forward.  
  


There were no options left, and with a bead of sweat and his stomach churning he walked deeper into his “home”, a multi-chambered labyrinth of mostly empty rooms. He held his breath, not wanting to be caught or spotted.

It was only a few more steps forward before he noticed the long shadow at his feet that was illumined by the moon behind the two of them, it was unmistakably vulpine with an almost hand-like tail that gripped at his heart every time he caught sight of it. This time however, it cut into him like a wave of shame.

Showing none of it and assuring to himself it was best to keep his pace up as casually as possible he continued on.

“…………………………………………..”

She was walking next to him now. There wasn’t any “need” to recap how the fight had gone, how the day had went, or why he had decided to break order and retire to bed four hours early, and in their life together she had offered him less than ten hours’ worth of spoken word, he said reassuring himself.  
  


She had no obligation to follow him.

It made him feel sick.  
More anxiety on top of his already bottled stressors.

He decided all at once to head to her room instead of his; it was easier to treat this like some sort of official conduction of business, as it was the biggest and closest of the chambers.

“…….”

They were inside, and he felt incredibly awkward.

The boy looked over his guardian and parental figure again. Her body was not quite “slender”, it was extremely durable but disguised as ethereally “sleek” and machine-like in the most dangerous places.

It was especially noticeable on her face, which wasn’t even aimed in his direction. She was gently lying on a mossy bed on the ground, her legs relaxed and crossed while the many tail segments making hypnotic “wave”-like patterns.

He was the first to speak

“Look…I.. need to take some time off tonight, there is no issue, I am simply exhausted from today’s fight.” Each word said clear, urgently, simple.

He always looked at her face even if it were one sided, and it hurt.

Her ears however, lively, and perked up directly at him so he knew she was listening. She remained silent and that often meant she needed more information from him.

He continued, “I see no potential dangers tonight, and hadn’t for weeks, I’ll check double the amount of prints in the morning.”

“The Ninetales, no, his mother, is always god damn frustratingly unreadable and had certain selfish expectations In terms of utilizing him to split the workload. I may as well be invisible right now” and other such thoughts entered his already stress-sickened brain.

She suddenly stood up all at once only to move closer to his body, gracefully closing the gap between the two until he was taking a full and uncomfortable dose of her vision as she was analyzing him.

“Fuck”, he cursed in his head.

He knew it was her turn to speak.

In a near perfectly smooth and neutral tone that he only felt “acquainted” with, she began her thoughts almost too quickly.

“You are obnubilating your true intent from me.”

“The nightly duties have been performed by you in more impaired states, and if you aren't prepared for the possibility of worse, you aren't ready to be an adult”

Her eyes burned into the retinas of the boy, calming but alarming, much like staring directly into the sun. Of course there was a comfort gained by her “companionship” and the warmth she gave off, but to be so close like this was overstimulating, the wave of self-hate from her message almost missed him entirely, this was his and her society and a reasonable perspective in it.

The boy closed his eyes, took a slow breath to compose himself and replied.

“You’re right, you’re always fucking right I-’

“Verbalize more politely”, she said, cutting him off with a surprisingly coy gaze, as If she were teasing him.

He desperately tried to compose himself again.

“I’m unsure of my abilities to become a good hunter, given my..” he choked on the last word, it was incredibly obvious how hard he had been trying up until this point for himself, for her, for the others, and for some abstract bullshit sense of order in nature.

“Given just, me being a human in these times, and it’s not your fault, really, it’s the last thing I consider your responsibility but I… That…. was a lie, I do actually think that you may be responsible and it’s because I know fucking-“  
  
She srcuffed up her nose a bit.  
  


He shifted at once, placing an arm to his chest, guarding his body instinctively against her.

  
“I know NOTHING about what I am, or where I’m from, I know fucking nothing about humans OR Pokémon, I feel like is your pet trapped in this unbreakable rhythm that is making me miserable because as a hunter I feel even more destructive, alien, and dangerous than how they already perceived me just by my nature of being fucking BORN! I hate it. I hate it. I hate YOU”,

After the shouting, he immediately regretted every single word that exited, genuinely horrified to where it had come from, unable to recognize himself as someone even capable of an outburst like this, he’s never seen any Pokémon behave this way. No, he was far “worse” than a Pokémon, or a man. He felt like some sort of walking “demon” and began to cry.

The young boy of twelve years cried there on the floor of his mother’s cave, as she watched him silently.

There was no comfort to be found, or sympathy to be shared in her body movement, only more information-driven words. She spoke with a different tone; he couldn’t understand what that shift meant.

“If now you choose to ken the nature of how you fell into my raising, I will allow it.”

She looked down at the floor, narrowing her eyes a tad.

“Twelve years ago in your people's time, there was a great storm. It was threatening to shatter a dam leading to the place of your birth, flooding the houses and causing many deaths. The children, mothers, and elders ran into the woods as the males desperately held back the logs to brute-force it in place.

It was there that I was found by your progenitor. After an unsuccessful endeavor in telling me her intent, she fell to the floor sobbing and presented you towards me as an offering.”

The boy started to breathe a bit heavy, heart beating rapidly. Unsure if he were even alive, dead, conscious or dreaming at this moment he found himself in.

She continued on

“After the offering I understood she needed something from me, and followed her.

The men at the dam had no intention of allowing me to help and were dismissive, but the woman once again lowered herself to plead and grovel, pointing a finger to the position where the sun should be, and back at me. I was unmoving and confused, the men there however eventually forfeited their strength upon realizing they could no longer hold the water back, and all at once they put their faith in me, bowing and letting the dam loose as they aimed their arms upwards.

They were swept up in the rapids, but I had brought the sun out as violently as I could and fire ran through my veins.

overlapping "sun upon sun" was infeasible, It was more akin having brought out several magnifiers and caused a bellicose and focused ray of light and fire. Liquid removed, evaporated, the harsh sunlight bleached the settlement into a ghostly pale, but no lives were lost outside of your kinparent and the men of the town.”

She closed her eyes now, she seemed heavy but as elegantly composed as she’s ever been.

"I'm sorry if I haven't been a good companion"

The young boy was silent, unsure of how to reply, he answered with another question, since this desperate attempt to connect seemed to be working and he was unwilling to let it pass now.

“Why don’t you eat meat? You raised me with these skills for hunting but it seems you’ve given it up completely, that seems counter-intuitive to the culture apex predators have.”

She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him, an unreadable expression, an unreadable tone, and a confusing kindness.

“Well….Heheh….I originally thought you were intended to be a food offering, but instead of showing fear you grabbed at my nose and open maw with your silly, fragile body”

“I perpetually kept you around as a repast, waiting for you to grow more desirably worth killing or taking down in a sense, but at some point I lost the desire to eat meat entirely around your toddler stage.”

She looked away from him again, and in a tone he could now identify as pensively solemn came her final words for the night.

“You mentioned feeling trapped in this, unbreakable culture, was it? That isn’t the case, and its due time you’re allowed the freedom to learn it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot more easy to write than the first chapter, so looks like I'm getting into the SWING of THING.  
> My grammar and prose ain't great, but hopefully you can enjoy the little story I'm crafting with my goblin hands anyway.  
> Message me on Discord if you have any comments!


End file.
